


Ode to Joy

by Lysistrata



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2010-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysistrata/pseuds/Lysistrata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before their perilous mission to secure the Eye of Harmony, Omega and Rassilon compile odes to each other that will speak of their heroic deeds throughout eternity. Er, crack?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ode to Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Fill 3 for the advent challenge on LJ.

“Are you really sure those shoes are suitable for tomorrow?”

Omega gestured at the feet of the man beside him, dropping an armful of tightly bound papers in the process and grumbling loudly. Starmaps and pages of arcane looking equations were scattered around the floor, loose of their bindings, flapping in the faint breeze. Eventually he shuffled them into a scruffy pile and straightened to regard his colleague.

“I mean, we’re about to become _Gods_ , Rassilon. We’ll be sung about for centuries. Do you really want them to sing about the sandals of Rassilon?”

The man wearing said sandals huffed indignantly, and returned to admiring his reflection in the long mirror opposite him. He raised a small pair of gold scissors occasionally, snipping a stray hair or two from his beard. After all, he was having his official victory portrait done tonight – it simply wouldn’t do to have his beard out of order.

“You know very well they’ll sing songs about any old nonsense in the years to come, after you or I are far too busy being dead to worry about such things,” he said, laying the scissors carefully down and smoothing out his robes. “Those crawlers down in the citadel will probably compile odes about what kind of breakfast we’ve eaten.”

He looked, almost guiltily, down at his shoes.

“Besides, I’d rather they sing about my sandals than my bunions.”

Omega half-slammed the now incoherent pile of papers on a low table and returned to pacing along the balcony. A million magnificently complicated calculations to contend with, a thousand things that could go wrong, and here they were worrying about footwear. He smiled wanly at the sheer improbability of it all, and his thoughts wandered.

 _“On the eve of victory, clipping his beard,  
Rassilon stood waiting to address his crew,  
A man so mighty he thought he was feared,  
And would be, if only for his terrible shoes...”_

Rassilon spluttered, aiming for his most dour offended look but landing at sniggering mirth instead. He strode over to join Omega on the balcony and clapped a heavy palm across his back, shoulders shaking in laughter.

“I think you should be my scribe rather than my stellar engineer!” he boomed. Omega eyed the pile of final workings he and Vandekirian had written up for their mission, and for a long moment heartily wished he were indeed a scribe. Rassilon cleared his throat, and proceeded to deliver his idea of a dedication.

 _“The finest of minds, great Omega,  
Awaited the morning with dread,  
He’d not spent his last night with his woman,  
But sneaked out with his captain instead!”_

Omega raised an eyebrow at the grinning features of his companion.

“I only mocked your questionable choice in footwear, and now you’re painting me as a philanderer!”

“Well, all the best stories have a bit of spice in them,” Rassilon said, and took Omega’s hand in his. “Besides, is it not true? This could be our last night on Gallifrey.” He raised the hand to his lips and kissed gently, before lowering it back and stepping away to lean on the balcony rail, overlooking the Citadel.

“I think we deserve to spend it together.”


End file.
